


An old devil and an angel

by UlsPi



Series: May/December Omens [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Explicit Sexual Content, Flirting, M/M, May/December Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24823894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlsPi/pseuds/UlsPi
Summary: The story of a retired financier and a young librarian
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: May/December Omens [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1795429
Comments: 55
Kudos: 84





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Silvergirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvergirl/gifts).



Once the world was young, the night was long, the moon was regularly full and the trees were tall. Unfortunately, all these things remained the same, but Mr Crowley, the legend of the City, as well as its mischievous demon, generous philanthropist (don't tell anybody), plant enthusiast (you may tell someone but at your own risk) grew old. Mr Crowley never meant to get old, nor he intended to remain young. His life was too busy for such things.

Yet the time has the appetite of a certain young librarian in Westminster Reference Library, who we are not going to mention for a while because as of the moment he's leaving his beloved workplace to take a stroll in St James' Park and eat his home made lunch there. 

At the same moment Mr Crowley etc is sitting on a bench in St James' Park and is having a heartfelt conversation with the ducks. The ducks are well fed and therefore they are listening to existential rumblings of a tall human who's dressed sharply, has red hair with a few charismatic grey locks, and is not feeling so well. 

Mr Crowley is telling the ducks that he's old and rich, that he's retired because he's had enough of about everything apart from basic human happiness. To make matters worse, he's not feeling so well. As far as Mr Crowley is concerned, he's about to faint, which is embarrassing, and he's not going to embarrass himself in front of the ducks. And the trees. And, despite the fact that he doesn't know it yet, he's not excited about embarrassing himself in front of a certain young librarian, who's looking for a lovely bench to sit on while he's eating his lovely lunch. 

The librarian isn't the only one who wants to enjoy their lunch on a bench in St James' Park, so he's about to join Mr Crowley on his bench.

"Excuse me, dear fellow, do you mind if I sit next to you?" The librarian asks. 

_Dear fellow_ looks up. He's very pale, this dear fellow. His eyes are hidden behind stylish sunglasses, he's dressed in black, and he's gorgeous. Also, he's about to faint or throw up or something, but seeing the young librarian he tries very hard to stay calm, cool and preferably not vomiting, at least. 

"I'm about to faint or throw up or something," Mr Crowley blurts out, "so I wouldn't recommend…" And at this Mr Crowley faints. His last thought is that the man who wants to sit next to him is too pretty for anyone's good… 

Now, the young librarian is called Eli Fell. He might be considered soft but he works with books, and Mr Crowley weighs about nothing compared to the complete works of Charles fucking Dickens, so he drops his lunch (those who know Eli would be shocked to learn about that, and so would be Eli, but he's about to catch a very handsome older man in his arms, which is overall an interesting experience) and prevents Mr Crowley's inevitable fall to the ground. 

Mr Crowley is carefully placed on the bench. Eli takes off his light jacket, folds it and puts it under Mr Crowley's head. Eli lifts Mr Crowley's rather endless legs on the back of the bench. The protocol is to loosen the man's tie, but thankfully he isn't wearing one. There's nothing to loosen around Mr Crowley's neck, but Eli definitely needs some air, so he loosens his bowtie. Actually, he's considering fainting himself - the man is handsome, and to hell with the protocol, Eli catches himself thinking that perhaps he could kiss the man and thus revive him. The man revives on his own and tries to sit up, groaning.

"Oh, please, don't get up so fast." Eli asks. "Do you have a medicine with you? Would you like a glass of water?"

Mr Crowley groans, grabs the back of the bench, and pushes himself into a sitting - oh no, that's not sitting - into a sprawling position. He looks at the jacket, then at its owner… Mr Crowley wants to faint again. That is definitely better than having fainted in front of the young man with kind blue eyes and wild white curls who smiles bashfully when Mr Crowley looks at him.

"That went down like a lead balloon," Mr Crowley remarks. 

"Oh… it did, rather. Are you alright, though?"

"Like a lead balloon," Mr Crowley replies. 

"Well… Can I help you?" Eli is a bit scared of the man's proximity, or he wants to run and call for help - we'll never know, but Eli steps on his lovely lunch, and from Mr Crowley's perspective it seems that the sun retired for the next hundred or so years. 

"Was your lunch?" Mr Crowley asks. He's not the legend of the City for nothing, he has a plan. He's suddenly not that old. Or maybe he is, but he doesn't care. 

"It was… Oh… But… Nevermind, my dear. Can I help you?"

"You can. How about we have lunch? You saved my head, I ruined your lunch… I think it's fair."

"You speak like a financier," Eli smiles.

"I used to be one. Until before about a week ago. Retired. Old and retired. Lunch? My treat, pick a place."

Eli agrees and wiggles in delight. He does love food, but he prefers his food not only delicious but in a good company. At the moment, the impossibly lean and equally beautiful man in front of him seems like the best company.

They walk, or rather Eli walks and Mr Crowley saunters. Eli decides that this is how he walks and that Eli can't find it in him to disapprove - the things that walk does to Eli's brilliant brain are… indecent. Besides, Eli thinks, the man of such beauty and charm has to have a very significant other than Eli.

Since the weather is nice, the men sit outside of a cozy little restaurant Eli frequents. Eli orders tomato soup, Crowley does too. 

"This… is delicious," Eli concludes in delight after the first spoon. 

Crowley looks at the soup with suspicion, but decides to follow Eli's lead. 

"Hm… it… it really is! Never thought soup could be so tasty…"

"Oh my dear, you have quite the world to discover."

"You… you like soup?" This is the worst flirting of Crowley's life, not that he has ever been particularly good at flirting. He can always say it's not flirting. The man of such blue eyes and bright smile has to have a significant other than Crowley. Not that Crowley likes soup, really.

"I love food." Eli wiggles again. Crowley leans on his elbow and forgets about the damn soup to watch his… someone else's… to watch Eli eat and enjoy every spoon and every bite of fresh bread with garlic butter. 

"Anything else you like? Fuck, what's your name?"

"Oh… oh. It's Eli. Eli Fell."

"Crowley. So, what else do you like, Eli?"

"Books. Double _o_ is not a requirement despite what you might think." Eli smirks and Crowley laughs. Both are quite giddy.

"I'm a librarian," Eli clarifies. "Westminster Reference Library."

"I guess you look like one… Like a Platonic ideal of a librarian." 

"How very smooth, my dear fellow. Is it your subtle way of telling me that I'm boring and old-fashioned?"

"No, it's my subtle way of telling you that you're… well, beautiful." Crowley finds the soup very interesting all of a sudden and starts to eat it quickly. 

"Really?" Eli asks after a few moments.

"Yes… Quite. I mean… I find you beautiful." Crowley shruggs. The soup tragically is no more. He doesn't feel like eating any bread. 

"So… would you like me to introduce you to the wonderful world of _soup_ , my dear?"

"Eli… I'm old, ok? And I'm…"

"How old?"

"Sixty old." 

"Any history of cardiological conditions?" Eli inquires innocently.

"No. Why?"

"So you won't collapse on me in the middle of passionate lovemaking?"

Crowley decides he absolutely adores the man. "No. On the other hand, I just fainted in your arms."

"Hm… Do you have any reason to believe that you might behave that way in the future?"

"No, angel, I promise, I'll be very well-behaved."

"Well, I trust your judgement, my dear… I'm glad you fell into my arms, and I'm looking forward to eating more _soup_ with you."

"Anything other than soup you might want to eat?" Crowley raises his eyebrows.

"Sushi," Eli replies, all innocence. He's such a sweet bastard, Crowley thinks. "Are you married?" Eli frowns. 

"No. Never have been. Never even dated, to be honest… I suppose it's best if you google me, angel… If you still want to see me, here's my number." Crowley scribbles his number on a napkin and walks away to settle the bill. He returns a moment later. Eli is still looking at Crowley's chair. 

"Can I… I mean, I'm retired, and you're a librarian, and you might not want to see me again, so… how about I walk you back to work?"

Eli brightens. "Oh, my dear, I'd be delighted!" 

It's a ten-minute walk. They chat, Eli laughs so happily, and he is so sweet and sassy, and Crowley hates his hungry heart for behaving badly, despite his promise to Eli.

"Well. If… do you have any plans for tonight, my dear?" Eli asks once they reach the library.

"Of course. I'm taking you to eat sushi." 

"Oh dear… How come I didn't know I had such perfect plans!" Eli smiles, it's a Platonic ideal of a smile. 

"If you still want to see me, that is…"

"Killed anyone, my dear?"

"No. No. Why would I?"

"Are you that Crowley?" Eli points to a plaque on the library wall that says that Mr Anthony Crowley sponsored the library's educational programs for the people with disabilities. There's another next to it saying that the Braille section of the library is purchased and donated by Mr Anthony Crowley. There's another one, but Crowley is as red as his hair. 

"Yes. That's… that's me."

"What a demon. I have to save your soul and eat some sushi with you. Oh dear, what am I to do? I'm finishing at five, Crowley. Please, please, be the fiend that you are and pick me up."


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley dresses stylishly. He's not exactly out of fashion, he's timeless, he can afford to be so because of his wealth and more importantly, his cheekbones. His eyes are the staff of nightmares, according to Crowley, but he can afford sunglasses. 

Crowley is getting ready for the first proper date of his life.

When the world was young and the nights were long, and Crowley was young as the world and wore his hair as long as the nights, Crowley studied mathematics and was a brilliant student. Perhaps, he could have dated back then, but after a few attempts he found out that the people he liked… Well, he hadn't met any. Maths, though… That he loved a lot. 

He had no intentions of working in the financial world, but somehow he got there, proved to be remarkably good at it, and besides, it paid better and provided him with enough adrenaline. He was embarrassed of his path, however, so his increasingly more spacious office had a big portrait of Marx above his table. He set up a few highly-paying scholarships for people from less fortunate backgrounds than his, he made sure that straight white cismen were a minority of his employees. He paid for his employees' children's education, whatever they chose, generously sponsored their gap years, and no matter how much he spent, he still earned more. Mathematics remained the love of his life, and in the world of finance the mathematics was dynamic, fast changing and full of yet to be solved mysteries.

Just for kicks, he once tried to go bankrupt. He woke up richer than he was the previous day. 

He bribed some high officials into making every public place in London accessible. It didn't help. He was still rich. 

He considered it and ruined a few powerful corporations, and he even did it legally. It didn't help. He tried doing it illegally, and it didn't help, he was still rich. 

He collected art, he owned a bloody Van Gogh.

He considered buying a yacht, but he wasn't very keen on water. 

The picture of Marx started looking at him with compassion, and how bad was that? Unable to stand it, Crowley resigned. He'd been training Bea to replace him anyway. So far Bea has been calling him every day at least once, and Crowley didn't have it in him to refuse. Bea was a friend after all, and mostly they called to check on him. 

Today, though, today Crowley is calling Bea. 

"Boss!"

"Not your boss anymore."

"Boss."

Crowley sighs. As his encounter in the park has proved to him, he has a soft spot for bastards. 

"Look… I fainted in the park today…"

"Bloody hell! Hastaaaaaaaaaah!" 

Crowley winces. His old PA that Bea got together with the position of CEO, can be heard cursing.

"Boss has fainted! Quickly…"

"Boss has fainted!" Hastur is a pale man as it is, but Crowley is sure he's even paler now.

"Hey, I'm ok. I'm at home. Just… I don't know. Something."

"Are you ok?"

"Are you at home?"

"What should be done?"

Bea and Hastur interrupt each other, and Hastur's husband Ligur (CFO) is heard entering the office and joining the chorus. 

"What do you need, Crowley?"

"Do you want ice cream?"

"Have you called your GP?"

"Are you drinking enough water?"

"People, stop this minute!" Crowley snaps. People stop this minute. 

"Can I finish one bloody sentence? What's wrong with you lot? You're the demons of the City! It won't do if anyone learns you're a bunch of softies!"

"With all due respect, boss, but… everyone knows you're a softie," Bea confides.

"Yeah. We do." Hastur is heard grinning and Ligur is heard rolling his eyes.

"I'm fucked!" Crowley says. 

"Oh, we tried our best to arrange for that…" Hastur says. 

"Since you insisted you weren't asexual. You insisted!" Ligur, who _is_ asexual, can be heard nodding. 

"I'm having a date, ok? He's the sweetest bastard on Earth and he's thirty years younger than me!"

"Hm…" All three are humming.

"Hm? That's it?"

"What else do you want? How did you meet him?" Bea asks.

"Well. As I said. I fainted. He caught me. Stepped on his lunch. I took him to lunch. He flirted. I think I did too. We're going out in an hour. I'm not sure how I look and what I should do. So… video call?"

A few minutes later Bea, Hastur and Ligur are looking at Crowley, and Crowley is looking at them.

"I miss you, guys."

"Yes, whatever. Right, Crowley, I think you look stunning." Bea concludes. 

"Could have dyed your hair… you know, to cover all the grey," Hastur says.

"No, he's so fetching like that," Ligur argues.

"Do you want us to research the guy? See if he's reliable?" Bea, ever practical, offers.

"No. He's a librarian… Westminster Reference Library. Blue eyes, white curls, dresses as if he's Hercules Poirot and calls people _dear fellows_." 

"Sounds gayer than Oscar from the Marketing." Hastur remarks. 

Oscar from the Marketing is the golden standard of gayness, but in Crowley's opinion, Eli is gayer. Crowley says so. 

"Ok. So… you look awesome, you have all the time in the world…"

"I'm old, remember?"

"No, I don't. You can still rock these tight pants, and you look a bit like David Bowie, which is not an example you'd like to follow… Crowley? Have you been smoking?" Bea looks right into Crowley's soul through the camera.

"I have… oh fuck. That's why I fainted."

"Yes, you idiot. Now. Take your Bentley…"

"I sold everything else."

"I wanted your Lamborghini!" Ligur whines.

"Hey, check your privilege," Bea reminds.

"I'm a black, gay, asexual man. I've earned my Lamborghini!"

"And the Batmobile too?" Bea asks then. "I'm an agender CEO, so I guess… I earned my Batmobile…"

"Guys, you never mentioned you wanted it… oh fuck, I'll try to buy them back…"

"No, you go have a date. It's your first. Be decent. Flirt. Show some skin, you have good skin. I'd suggest no snogging, but roll with it!" With this Bea ends the call. 

***

Eli is looking into the middle distance. Ana coughs politely.

"Yes, dear girl."

"Tell me about him."

"Oh… he fainted into my arms and then took me to lunch… WHAT DO YOU MEAN, ANA? THERE'S NO ONE IN… Ok, he fainted into my arms and took me to lunch. We're having dinner at five." Eli looks defeated, but invincibly so.

"It's five thirty. There's a vintage Bentley by the library, and there's a very peculiar man sitting on its roof." Ana smiles smugly.

"Yes, but does he have the hair like a sunset?" Eli asks dreamily. 

"Pretty much, yes."

Eli is not the running kind, but he runs. He thinks it's alright to be short for breath. He wants to appear eager, because he is so eager, he is…

"So sorry, dear fellow," Eli says to an angry space Buddah of glamrock on the roof of the vintage Bentley.

"I thought you stood me up. My first ever date. I was going to turn into a statue here." Crowley grumps as he climbs down and opens the door for Eli. 

"But you'd be such a magnificent statue, my dear… I begin to regret not standing you up!.." 

Crowley winces at that.

"My dear, I was lost to the dreams of seeing you again. A colleague told me you'd arrived. I'm so sorry." Eli says softly, and he is both rejoiced and heartbroken to see how Crowley relaxes at that. Normally, Eli doesn't kiss anyone unless he is absolutely certain that it's welcome, but… but oh, the cheekbones! The glasses! The endless legs! The silver in the hair the colour of a sunset! Eli places a hand on Crowley's cheek and guides the older man into a kiss. 

"My first kiss too…" Crowley admits after Eli comes out for air. Crowley, he doesn't really need air, as it turns out. Plump pink lips are better than oxygen, absolutely.

"And how was it, my dear?"

"I mean… I have no point of reference… but I think I've just proved the Riemann hypothesis."

Eli sighs. This man is definitely making it very difficult not to snog him at every opportunity, and Eli wanted to kiss him when he was unconscious. He's not proud of that sentiment, but he's snogging Crowley again.

"You know, I'm not a young man Eli…"

"Oh, but only young people are capable of proving the Riemann hypothesis. Isn't it true?" 

This time Crowley is snogging Eli, and Eli… oh, he says _fuck_ in his mind, because he'd never curse outloud. There's no way Crowley is an inexperienced kisser… oh, on the other hand he just proved the Riemann hypothesis. 

"Bugger all, dear boy… I could skip sushi…"

"Oh, but I couldn't. And I did some reading Eli. There's this miso soup, and I can't wait for you to show me the marvels of all things soup."

Eli has to snog him because no one has ever flirted with Eli using soup. He never wants to be flirted with again. He wants to talk about soups and snog in a vintage Bentley with a man old enough to be his father… Oh, he's just said, hasn't he? _Bugger all dear boy._

"Eli, if you want sushi, we need to…"

"Yes, let's get a bit of a wiggle on."

"What?"

"Wiggle on."

"Eli, I'm sixty and I have never used this… turn of phrase…"

"Oh, you don't like it?" Eli pouts. Eli's pout got him through life just fine, but Crowley… Crowley just smirks and starts the car.

***

There's a queue. Crowley has nothing against queues, but Eli is distressed and wringing his hands. 

Crowley rolls his eyes and curses himself and beautiful blonds. He tugs Eli to the head of the queue and the hostess takes one look at them before turning completely awe-stricken.

"Mister Crowley… oh my… it's been years… Years… Your usual table, it's always free… oh please, do come along, you and your… partner." The hostess smiles approvingly at Eli, but Eli still has his hand in Crowley's, so he can hardly think. 

"You just bail out the owner one time and that's what you get… embarrassing, really, that's what it is!" Crowley grumps, but Eli can't take his eyes off of him.

"Dearest… you're so beautiful."

"Because I got us a table using a favour I shouldn't have ever mentioned? Forget about it, Eli…" But Eli kisses Crowley, he can't really help it, the man is too perfect, too grumpy, too kind… He wouldn't want to be called kind, that Eli sees, but he'd think of him so. He'd think of him forever, as far as he's concerned.

"So, Eli…" Crowley looks at Eli, despite the fact that there's a waiter standing by their cozy table. Eli calmly orders his favourites and turns to Crowley.

"Yes, my dear?"

"You know the menu by heart?"

"I do. Is this a problem?"

"No. The problem is I'm an old man and I'm like… wow. Eli." 

"The feeling is mutual, my dear."

"Tell me… about yourself."

"Oh… I thought you'd recognise. My family, the Fells, they are your rivals…"

"Oh… those wankers? Gabriel, Michael and whoever? Sorry…"

"Don't be sorry. They kicked me out once I told them I was gay. What did you do to them, dearest?"

"Not enough apparently… I mean… I ruined them… for kicks. I'm so sorry, I'll see what I can do…"

"Do nothing, darling. Thank you. This is better than flowers and gifts. Now, let's forget about them. Although I understand now why they tried to contact me and take away whatever I got from my inheritance."

"Ok… so… should I have them…"

"No, darling. I know I must be a difficult person to trust now… but… Anthony… No, no, I'm not making it any easier. Alright. I told them I was gay, they told me to… bigger off. Gave me some money to keep myself a secret. Got my degree in library science. Bought a flat. Am glad to be what I am. They never liked me anyway. How are you feeling?"

"After you snogged me? Ehm… like… like Led Zeppelin during their recording of _Physical Graffiti_."

"Oh… Bebop!" Eli nodded in understanding.

"Angel… Led Zeppelin are not Bebop."

"Just as well… I think you'll soon discover, dearest, that… I'm a bit older."

"Oh, don't mock me, angel."

"I wouldn't," Eli takes Crowley's hand. "You're wonderful. I like you. Let's eat."


	3. Chapter 3

Eli is staring into his computer. Instead of inventory he's seeing a tall man of sixty, ashamed of his goodness and wealth. He's seeing a tall man of sixty whom Eli snogged silly when said man drove Eli to his place. He's seeing a tall man of sixty who's just so perfect he might as well have been a bottle of cognac.

Eli is having another date with the tall man of sixty in an hour, and he wants to see his eyes. He wants to see him naked, preferably panting and moaning and screaming Eli's name. 

Eli is the gayest of men, but he's traditional, so he's dreaming of a white wedding, he's dreaming of putting a ring on it, pardon, on Crowley. He's dreaming of a cake, of flowers, of Crowley's smile. 

Eli is dreaming of it all, but his more profound, more sensual, more genuine part is dreaming of rubbing Crowley's temples through his migraines (Crowley said he is prone to migraines), of making him tea, of kissing him softly, of  _ being there  _ for the only man in Eli's very gay existence who actually makes Eli want to be truly mature and responsible. He wants to be responsible for that sharp old darling of his. 

"Eli, your electric eel of a boyfriend is back. Should I tell him you're standing him up?" Tracy is looking at Eli with a peculiar mixture of disapproval and protectiveness.

Eli glances at his pocket watch - and runs away from everything that isn't Crowley.

"Dearest, I'm so sorry… I swear, I keep thinking of you and lose the track of time…" Eli wants to snog Crowley, but Crowley moves away. 

"Don't… just don't. I'm glad you're here. If you could just stop torturing me!" Crowley is driving angrily, and Eli's silly old heart is yearning for the playfulness of the previous evening.

"Crowley, I promise. I was sitting in front of the computer and thinking of you… Before I knew it…"

"Shut up, Eli. That's what should happen to stupid old fuckers dating handsome young librarians."

"Are you going to be all angry and grumpy through the evening?"

"Perhaps… then you'll just dump me and that's it."

"Oh, darling, you're sulking. Where are we going?"

"You wanted to see that exhibition…"

"Oh, fuck the exhibition. We're going back to mine. I'm making you dinner and taking ridiculously good care of you. Take it or leave it."

Crowley sullenly follows Eli's directions. 

Eli's cozy cluttered flat is warm and very Eli.

Eli takes off Crowley's jacket (it's so glittering it must have been stolen from Elton John, no less), pushes him firmly on the old sofa and begins cooking. It's nothing special, leftover chicken, arugula, cherry tomatoes, fresh cucumbers, a good avocado and just a few drops of balsamic vinegar.

"Darling, could you move a bit?" 

"I'm not that old to be unable to move…" 

Crowley's grumpy tirade is interrupted with a forkful of the best salad of his life. He's never known that salad could be so good. 

"I'm counting on you to be able to move those sinful hips of yours in the most satisfactory manner, dearest, but you need your protein and vitamin C first." Eli is feeding him and tries to forget how horny he is for those hips to move against his own, creamy and soft.

"I have some plans for you, Anthony Crowley, but you need to be well-fed before…"

"You just want to… placate me, angel."

"No, darling, I want you to fuck me within the inch of my life. I want you to make a beautiful mess of me. I want you to see that I want you so much… I can't get my silly daydreaming in the way of our mutual pleasure."

"You know, I… I wanted something more. I wanted a friend. A partner."

That's low, Eli thinks, that's so low. Eli can do a lot when it comes to sensual pleasure, but being partners… Being truly open to someone… That is so bloody difficult. His fingers shake, but he keeps on feeding Crowley.

"You, angel… I don't know what you think… But I'm… you're my first one. I don't have any time for you not to be the last one too. So… if it's too much, tell me. The salad is lovely, by the way."

"Dearest… I… I want to take care of you."

"Don't need to be taken care of, angel. I want to be loved." Crowley closes his eyes and lies back. "Just let me… digest it. I'll be out of your hair soon enough."

Oh no, Eli thinks, oh never. Eli wants this one, this sharp and angular one, this old, this unloved one. Eli is a reasonable man, so he wants this sharp, angular, old, unloved one to die in his, in Eli's arms. He thinks a bit more and comes to a conclusion that he doesn't care about Death or anything of the kind, if only he could spend some ephemeral time with this one… Hear him grumpy, hear him lonely, hear him sarcastic. 

_ I need to tell him, to show him,  _ Eli thinks. 

"Are you quite full, dearest? I have some dessert planned, you see."

Crowley agrees to a dessert. Eli feeds him some tiramisu. 

"I'd better go…" Crowley is trying to push himself up, but Eli holds him back. 

"I want you to… No. I want to grant you three wishes. Please, wish for something."

"I'm too old for games."

"That's what Faust used to say, but I'm neither Faust, nor Mephisto. You call me angel, and I want to grant you three wishes."

"You're mixing up mythologies…"

But Eli shuts him up with a kiss. It's intoxicating that Crowley tastes of the salad Eli had made.

"I'll mix up all I want. Three wishes."

"First, I want you to read Scheherezade to me. Second, I want you to kiss me again. Third, I want you to come on time when we have a date."

Eli kisses him, carefully, oh so carefully, as if it's his first kiss, but as it happens, it's Crowley's first lover, and Eli feels proud of it.

Eli reads Scheherezade to him, and he makes sure Crowley hears Eli yearning for magic and mystery and wit as Eli is reading. 

They have a date the next evening, so Eli makes it on time. 

"Do I have to release you now?" Crowley asks sincerely. 

"I don't want to be released, dearest. I want you to drive us back to mine. I want to feed you, and read to you, and kiss you and be on time tomorrow."

Eli is never late again. He comes early each evening. It earns him Crowley picking him up in the morning.

"This is such a… such a young romance, darling."

"Well, don't tell anybody."

"Oh no, sweetheart, I'm telling everyone that my darling is so punctual, so faithful…"

No one has ever told Eli how difficult it might be to win the heart of an older man. Everything Eli read told him that he could bat his eyelashes and get what he wanted. 

Crowley is not exactly immune to eyelashes or pouts, but he wants something solid.

"It's because he's old," says Tracy with a shrug.

"It's because he's besotted with you," says Ana with a grin.

Both are right, of course.

And meanwhile in Mayfair, in a spacious penthouse that has very little furniture and an extraordinary amount of extraordinarily green plants a tall man of sixty is being yelled at by Bea.

"You are an arse, Anthony Crowley! So what that the boy is late? Have you seen him? Have you fucking seen him?"

"Of course I have fucking seen him! He's gorgeous!"

"Yes, and that's why he'll be late all he wants, and you'll wait for him, like you have been waiting for him for the past sixty years! He's already thirty years late, Crowley. A few more hours wouldn't count… Please, don't ruin this! You've been happy and ridiculous lately, and that's you at your most beautiful, as I've come to learn. Please, don't fuck this up! I'm literally begging you."

"Are you quite done with the yelling?"

"I am… Sorry, boss, I'm just nervous and excited. Oh, that was bad… my throat is sore now. What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to call him and apologise."

"Good. Next?"

Crowley walks out to his terrace and looks at London at his feet. He can do it, he can, and by it he means letting out a heavy sigh. "I'll buy him flowers…"

"Bring your own. Something has to bloom in that Eden of yours."

Crowley looks at that Eden of his. No, nothing is worthy.

"Nah, nothing is worthy."

"Oh, you skinny perfectionist arse!"

"I'll get him the best chocolate… I want to shower him with gifts, but then I'll be what? A sugar daddy?"

"And?"

"Well… I don't want to be a sugar daddy. Want to be a partner. An equal."

"Then let the boy be late!" Bea ends the call at this.

Crowley looks at his phone. Looks at London at his feet, that suddenly grows in size and puts Crowley at its feet instead. He calls Eli.

"Angel? How are you?"

"Oh dearest, have I missed the time again?"

"No… Look, angel… I've been an arse, ok? Please, be late. Please, daydream about being with me. Do whatever you want, angel, I'm so very lucky to have you look my way, and… Just… be yourself, angel, I'll wait for you and won't say a word, ok?.. Angel?"

"Dearest… dearest, could you pick me up now?"

"Yes, sure. Are you alright? Have I said something…"

"Oh darling, you say the best things. I'm waiting for you, sweetheart, my beautiful friend, my besotted lover. Come pick me up."

Crowley is driving like a mad man, which he always does but it's worse this time. He's sitting in his car waiting for Eli. He isn't texting or calling or even sulking. He's waiting. 

Eli comes running, gets into the car - and snogs Crowley silly, so silly. 

"Darling, are you hungry?"

"I'm not… I mean, you just snogged me. I'm ok."

"Then take me anywhere with a bed!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow burn? Never heard of her.

Eli turns to his side and gazes at Crowley who is staring at the ceiling, trying and failing to catch his breath. His beautiful pale yellow eyes with mismatched pupils seem rather dazed. Eli giggles proudly and happily.

"That… That was a thing," concludes Crowley.

"It was, indeed," Eli smiles and kisses Crowley's nose. 

"Oh fuck, hold me," Crowley rolls over and tries to melt into Eli.

"Oh darling, but it's…" Eli holds him all the same, and gladly. He's so sharp against Eli's softness, so fragile, so vulnerable. Eli wants him forever and a day.

"If you're going to say it's just sex, you'll break my heart, angel."

"Darling, I wanted to say that it's alright to feel like this. You were beautiful. You were lovely. You were tender and caring. No one has ever opened me with their mouth…"

"Glad to hear I'm not the only one losing my virginity here."

"I loved every moment. I'm happy to be your first. Can we do it again?"

"I'm afraid you're my last. I'm actually happy you're my last. My only. Give me a few hours… I'm an old man after all."

"You're my darling man, Crowley. How old you are is of no consequence."

"Well, then it's good I'm gonna die soon."

"Don't you dare, I just found you, darling." Eli cradles him in his arms, that parchment page of a man, who feels younger than Eli, who feels immortal against Eli's soft chest. 

"It's quite fine, my darling, my beautiful Crowley. It's alright, I'm here…"

"I'm here too, angel," Crowley replies, half asleep. Eli holds him through the night. The irony of him being the sleepless one isn't lost on him. Crowley sleeps like a baby, as if there's nothing else to do. Eli runs his fingers through Crowley's hair, turns his head to kiss Crowley's forehead every few minutes. He'll guard this one. He'll keep this one safe and loved. He's never felt so strong, so mighty in his life.

***

Crowley wakes up in an unfamiliar bed and alone. After some blinking, he realizes that the bed is Eli's, and that Eli is not with him. Crowley groans into a pillow, that smells of Eli, and now even a pillow can break Crowley's heart.

"Dearest? You're awake? Oh dear, are you quite alright?" Crowley hears Eli enter the room, hears the clinking of a fine teacup against the nightstand. 

"Thought you… were disgusted…"

"Sweetheart, I can't hear a thing like that." Eli's fingers come to push a stray lock of hair away from Crowley's face.

"I said. I thought. You were disgusted. Didn't want to stay with me. I'm sorry."

"Darling, it's eight. I need to get to work soon. How about you stay here and sleep as much as you want, then we can have lunch together? And dine together back here? Is that too much?" Eli wants to hold him down, warm him, take his breath away along with his silliness.  _ I can never have anyone else. No one can ever compare. No one will ever need me like that. I will never breathe again after him.  _ Eli shakes his head. Such foolish, such radical thoughts after one night of lovemaking, however good it was. 

"I… I'd really… like that. I could do the shopping. Could cook us something." Crowley isn't even asking, he's bribing, he's begging. Eli cups his cheek.

"Sweetheart. My Crowley. Please, do stop fretting. I want you here. I want you again. Will you pick me up?"

"Yes, sure, anything."

"Splendid. Now I want to reassure you of my intentions. You just lie there…"

Eli pushes Crowley on his back and straddles him.

"Aren't you going to be late for work?" Crowley means to smirk, but it is just smitten smiling.

"The things I do for my demon," Eli rolls his eyes, then hips. Crowley gasps. "Good, darling… So responsive and sensitive… What's a little frottage between two hereditary enemies?"

"I guess… business as usual?"

"And so clever, too. Wily old serpent."

"That's… ahhh… ageist, angel. Oh fuck, angel!"

"You did fuck your angel. Your angel will be delighted to have trouble sitting today…" Eli leans over, as if for a kiss, but actually reaches for the lube.

"Bastard," Crowley whispers. 

"Oh darling… you have no idea." Eli smirks, but suddenly turns besottedly tender. "My dearest Crowley, I want my serpent old and wily. No other serpent can satisfy me, I'm afraid." Eli lines their cocks together. "Give me that long cool hand of yours darling. Just one… Thank you, my sweet darling."

Crowley loses any grasp of language. Eli covers Crowley's hand with his, soft, warm, very well taken care of and starts a lazy, read torturous, pace. 

"Don't look so disappointed, my darling. I want you to sleep through the afternoon. We'll have a late lunch. Maybe you'd kiss me better…"

Crowley moans in agreement. As things stand he isn't sure of his own existence, lost somewhere between dimensions.

"You look so good, you are so tender, Crowley. I might have had more lovers, but no one compares…"

Crowley grips stronger and quickens the pace. He can't talk, alright, but he wants Eli to be equally speechless.

"Ooooh… oh darling… sweetheart… oh, it's so good…"

Feeling inspired, Crowley licks his free hand and sits up to caress Eli's anus.

"Ah… ah… alright, I won't sit today… Get your finger inside or so help me Loooooooooord…"

Crowley kisses his sassy bratty angel silly. And slowly. And definitely lovingly.

"Darling… I want it to last… Oh bugger it, faster, Crowley, please, faster."

***

"You're magnificent," Crowley praises seriously as he showers Eli. 

"Oh really?" Eli asks weakly. He's sitting in the bath, and perhaps it's a touch uncomfortable, but he can't remain standing. He leans against Crowley's naked hip.

"Definitely. I'm so… I adore you." Crowley offers Eli a towel, wraps him in both the soft fabric and his arms, kisses the top of Eli's head. "Now, I'm going to drive you to work. You're not that late… Just an hour or so…"

***

Crowley goes shopping. Then he goes shopping for another fridge. Then he has to pay an obscene amount of money to have the fridge delivered  **_NOW_ ** . By that time he can't go cookbook shopping, but he assumes Eli has something - and Eli does.

Crowley makes dinner. It's perfect. Crowley thinks it's a disaster, so he drives to pick up Eli. He's sullen and sulking. 

"Oh dearest, whatever is the matter?" Eli snogs him, mostly for cosmetic reasons - to bring some colour back to those cheeks and cheekbones, to plaster a silly smile on Crowley's thin lips… Eli wiggles happily, despite being a bit sore. His body,  _ all  _ of his body tingles with the memory of Crowley kissing every inch of him the previous night. 

"I bought you a fridge. I bought so much food, yours wasn't enough. I made us dinner. I'm sorry I skipped lunch. Was buying the fridge and didn't want to tell you."

"My Crowley… a fridge is a perfect gift. Thank you."

"And I think I ruined our dinner."

"I'll dine on you, my silly one."

Crowley blushes.

***

Back at Eli's the young librarian is torn between indeed dining on his silly one or enjoying the delicious meal his silly one has made. 

"Alright, my darling. You go undress your spectacular self and settle in bed. I'm bringing the plates and wine. It all looks scrummy, but so do you, my crunchy idiot."

Crowley can't blush that much, he's an old man, and he's in love with the most precious person he has ever met.

He settles into bed. He is not that spectacular, but he is crunchy… He thinks. Bea texts him to ask if he got laid and why he doesn't call. Crowley sighs and replies that he's being laid right now, so he can't talk.

Bea's joyous shrieks can be heard through the City.

Eli brings the food - and spoonfeeds Crowley. 

"Angel, I'm not that old!" Crowley manages through a mouthful of indeed delicious meal.

"Oh, but I want your hands to be otherwise occupied." Eli pouts. He's straddling Crowley, he has a plate full of of food on Crowley's chest. He's stark naked and Crowley can't really eat, but he understands he has to because his angel is insatiable and he's happy to deliver.

"Come on, darling. You told me you liked my hips. Do get busy, my handsy serpent. Do get handsy, my busy snake."

When Crowley does so and stops chewing, Eli rolls his hips. "Don't forget to chew, dearest. We have plans."

"We do?"

"I intend for you to ride me into the sunset. I will be screaming like a charging hun."

"You don't look like a hun angel. Or a horse."

"A little bit of imagination, sweetheart… Crowley?" Eli cups Crowley's cheeks. "I'm stupidly in love with you, and I want us happy, alright?"

"Yeah… ok…" Crowley rasps.

"Good. So use your imagination."

"Using. Right now."

"Right now, please, chew."

Crowley chews. 

Later, Eli turns out to be a very convincing hun and a very eager horse. 

***

"Crowley?"

"Yes, angel?" 

"Do you love me? You never said it back."

"I love you. I fucking love you so much."

"That's how it's supposed to be with the first love… You're too, though. You're my first love. I want no other."

"Me too, angel. Thought you'd say it's… too fast."

"It is. But call me ageist, my beautiful love, we don't have that much time to waste. Let's move in, get married, spend every possible moment together?"

"And… and if you regret it, angel?"

"I won't. You're interesting. We're interesting together. No book has ever had me so excited, and no book I have ever wanted to never end. We'll figure it out, as we go, my Crowley."

"Then… I'm all in, angel. It can't be so bad… can't imagine it being bad at all. Don't think I have any time to get used to it."

"I don't want you to get used to it, my dear, my wily old Crowley."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for being here. Yours, a trenchcoat full of velvet writing worms.


End file.
